Beneath
by a. loquita
Summary: Sam really shouldn't go over to O'Neill's house in the middle of the night and expect him to behave. Kind of a Redemption episode tag SJ


Beneath

Author: a. loquita  
Summary: Sam really shouldn't go over to O'Neill's house in the middle of the night and expect him to behave. Kind of a Redemption episode tag (S/J)  
Rated: M

I've spent all my time here these last days, in my lab, the briefing room, and my quarters. But now these walls only serve to remind me of what just happened, of all those eyes focused on me, waiting for me to save the world. I almost failed this time. Close, way too close.

I go home but I can't sleep. I wander around my house looking for something to distract my hands and my head with. But nothing seems to work. Finally, I slip on some shoes, pull a jacket over my pajamas and get in the car. I drive to Jack's place. It's been quite some time since I've been here.

I used to come to him late at night all the time. After particularly bad missions, after my father nearly died, and whenever the nightmares got too much, I'd come here. We would sit and talk, or not talk. Sometimes we'd have a few beers, sometimes not. Always I'd fall asleep on his couch. Jack would put his mother's afghan over me and go sleep in his bedroom. Except for once, but we don't count that one time. Every time, he would wake me with coffee and breakfast and the world somehow seemed to be just a little bit better than what it was the night before.

I haven't come in a while, not since before Daniel… I've been angry with Jack for stopping my dad from healing him. I've been angry at Jack's insistence that Daniel really isn't gone. I'm still angry, but tonight, it's not about Daniel. Not entirely.

The house is dark and silent. That surprises me, I expected Jack to be up, it's not all that late. But then I remember how long of a day it's been. Plus, he ejected from an aircraft, floated down to Earth, and landed hard in a wave-tossed ocean. That had to hurt.

They flew Earth's most unsung hero straight back to the SGC where Janet got her hands on him as fast as she could. But without finding anything more than some bumps and bruises and a badly swollen knee, she had no excuses to keep Jack in the infirmary. Released, with a bottle of heavy-duty anti-inflammatory muscle relaxers, Jack headed home and straight to bed, apparently.

Now, I stand on his porch weighing the reasons why I should get back in my Volvo and go home. But I don't want to do that for plenty of not so good reasons. Those that believe Samantha Carter is driven only by logic and science should see me now.

I know that it's not locked. The door never is, so I let myself in.

I consider the couch and I actually head that direction for a second. Then I reconsider and I start down the hall. I need to see him if only for a moment, even if he's fast asleep.

The moment I enter the room, O'Neill jerks awake and reaches for the handgun on the nightstand. Should've thought twice about breaking and entering the house of a man with special ops training. Yet doesn't lock the door.

"It's me." I say quickly, before this gets out of hand.

"Carter," Jack breathes relief and I can almost feel the tension wash from him. "What're you doing here?"

"Couldn't sleep."

He's looking at me now, in the moonlight that streams in from the window. I can see the outline of him lying under a thin blanket. But there's not enough light to interpret his eyes, they are shadowed so it's impossible for me to read what he's thinking.

Jack starts to sit up, but his face contorts in pain and he gives up trying. "I'd go sit with you on the couch, but I'm pretty sure I can't move. Maybe by next Tuesday."

"That bad?" I'm concerned. Not overly so, because if it were anything too terrible Janet would have never let him leave the infirmary. "Did Janet give you something?"

"Yeah."

"Did you take it?"

"No."

Sometimes it is like baby-sitting a six year old. I leave his room and work my way back down the hall. In the entryway, I find the bottle. In the kitchen, I fill a glass that appears to be clean with water and bring them both back to his room.

I help Jack sit up, with plenty of grunting and cursing on his part. Then hand him a pill and the water.

"Thanks," Jack says.

I sit down at the edge of the bed while he takes the pill. After one sip of the water, he hands me back the glass.

"All of it," I insist.

"Carter, if I drink that whole glass, then I'm gonna have to pee. You gonna help me with that too?"

I know what he's doing. He's trying to make me uncomfortable on purpose. Because then I'll pull back, and away.

"All of it." I repeat. I really am worried about him. That knee was a mess even before this whole ordeal. Then he goes and pulls off a daredevil act, all on his own. The kind that men half his age couldn't do without ending up in the hospital. Or dead. I should have been there.

Jack reluctantly drinks it all. "You hang out with Janet too much. You know that?"

"Where does it hurt worst?"

"Everywhere."

"Want me to…?" I have my hand on his shoulder, ready to massage aching muscles if it would help.

"Probably not a good idea."

Right. I've been distracted with worry and fussing over him. But now suddenly, I'm aware of the fact that I'm sitting next to him on his bed. I gulp.

Thankfully, his condition at the moment is going to prevent anything from going too far. Unless he just lies there and… An image of straddling him, looking down at his magnificent naked chest and brown eyes, flashes in my head. His hands are at my hips, guiding me as I ride him–

"Carter?"

"Huh?"

Jack must see something on my face that tells him where my mind has been, because he looks away and slides down to lay flat again, effectively putting some distance between us. Something inside me snaps.

I don't want space. I'm tired of this game we play. I want this man before me. I don't want to have to apologize for that, or pretend anymore. I almost lost him today. Again. We lost our gate. We've already lost Daniel. And I don't care what you say, Jack O'Neill, Daniel's gone and I intend to mourn him. And someday, one of these times, I'm not going to figure it out. It'll be too late or I'll be wrong and I'll fail. I'll fail you.

I don't realize that I've said all of it out loud. Yelled it actually. Nor do I completely get the fact that I'm sobbing, until Jack fumbles in the dark, knocking a few things over and finds a Kleenex box on his nightstand. He hands it to me.

"Thanks," I say in a pathetic voice. I clean myself up, blow my nose, and wipe my tears. I should be embarrassed and with any other man I probably would be. But not him. There's nothing I could say or do that would make Jack not respect me in the morning.

He says the password, "Com're."

Jack opens his arms to me and I gratefully accept. Cuddled up against his side, with my head on his shoulder and my arm across his chest, I finally feel OK for the first time in nearly three days. We lay like that for a long time. Neither of us speaks, but neither falls asleep either. I'm thinking about how this should feel weird, it should feel wrong. But it doesn't. It never has.

Suddenly, his hand drifts down my back. "Are you still wearing your coat?"

I smile. I sit up, take it off, and along with my shoes, toss it aside. His eyes go to my chest. I'm wearing a little blue camisole with my PJ bottoms.

Oh, yeah. Maybe a bad idea to _not _change before coming over to my commanding officer's house in the middle of the night. Where I crawl into his bed, cry like a baby, and yes, tell him that I want him in the middle of an outburst of insanity. Which part of this is where I went wrong?

"Ah, Carter…" He's trying very hard to fight a battle, one that I'm playing dirty. It's really not fair to the poor guy. Jack is so incredibly adorable, the way he looks at me, the longing, but yet still with respect.

I can't help it. I know what it will feel like, taste like, even though it's been so long. I can still remember that one night vividly. I lean over and kiss him. At first, Jack hesitates. Then he gives in and it's glorious.

We both start to move. Jack's hands slide over my back, down my sides, up to my breasts. I move my leg over his. The hand that was resting across his chest before is now clutching at the hair at the back of his head, holding it in place while I gain deeper access to his mouth with my tongue.

Then suddenly, he stops and pulls back. I'm almost panting and I'm shaking with need.

Jack says, "I can't…"

Yeah I know, this is wrong, we need to stop before-

"I'm too exhausted," he continues, "and then that pill… I'm not gonna be able to…"

Oh, that. I drop my head to his chest and breathe. It's for the best anyway, isn't it?

"Yeah," I utter and I'm not surprised that I couldn't keep the disappointment out of my voice.

He says, "I swear that's never happened before. Not around you, that's for sure."

I grin, knowing that I should admonish him, but I simply can't.

He finishes, "But you, I mean…"

Jack rolls me onto my back and he manages to get on his side without cursing this time. The muscle relaxers must certainly be working, damn them.

Looking down at me, Jack's eyes lock on mine. I'm sure it's an effort to detect any sign of hesitation on my part. His voice rumbles low, "Tell me to stop. Tell me you don't want this."

I can't say that. I want whatever he is willing to give more than I want my next breath. Jack's hand caresses down my cheek, through the valley between my breasts, and keeps going.

"Tell me, Carter."

"Please," I plead shamelessly.

His hand snakes slowly under the elastic waistband of my PJ bottoms. Suddenly, a finger strokes across my wetness.

"Oh," I say, as my hips buck on their own accord.

"You want this?" Jack asks, "You're sure?"

Does he want me to beg? Because I will. "Yes."

He slips one finger inside me. Then two.

I say something totally unintelligible. It's been years since that near impossible feat were accomplished– rendering Samantha Carter unable to think.

Jack begins to move his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm. "Do you have any idea how much I want you?" He adds a third finger and I groan in appreciation. I clutch at his shoulders, needing to touch him.

He continues to whisper against my skin. "I want to feel you, I want to taste you. I want to hear you moan and call my name. Say it."

"Jack." And it does come out as a moan. I can't help myself I'm on sensory overload.

Between thrusts his thumb flicks back and forth at exactly the right spot to make me–

"Come for me, Samantha." And I do.

Then I am limp. Jack's hand is under my pajamas but it is still now, flat on my abdomen. I know I should say something.

He beats me too it. "Don't think."

"What?" I'm totally thrown by this. All I do is think. It's what I'm _paid_ to do.

"I know how you are, you're gonna ruin this by over thinking it and you'll make yourself crazy."

Despite the fact that I want to be mad at his comment, he's honestly not that far off. He knows first hand what I'm capable of. We've been through this before. It was distant and awkward and hard to put it behind us last time.

"And the guilt," I say softy. "Don't forget about that."

"Yeah, that too." Jack's breath flutters my bangs as he speaks, that's how close his lips are to my forehead.

I say, "This is all my fault." And ain't that the truth. It never has been, and never will be Jack coming to me. Nope, it's all me, and though he did the dirty deed no one could really blame him.

O'Neill reminds, "I didn't exactly throw you out of my bed."

I say, "There is that." And I wonder when I started to sound like him too.

Then I ask very, very quietly, "What are we going to do now?" Because there's a huge part of me that doesn't really want to know the answer. I don't want to hear him say he'll retire. I don't want to hear that he won't. I'm not entirely sure I want to pretend this didn't happen. I do know that I don't want to go through the struggle we had last time.

"Now, we go to sleep."

I roll my eyes. Of course he's going to be this way. "Sir," I say annoyed.

"I thought we had moved on to Jack?"

"Jack-"

"That's better."

I'm indignant now. "I mean it."

"Oh for cryin' out loud, what'd ya want me to say, Carter?"

"Something. Anything."

"I told you not to over think this, and then I told you to go to sleep."

"Was that an order, Sir?"

"Damn it, Carter." Yeah, now he's good and pissed at me.

"Look," Jack launches in. "One day, hopefully not that far off, we will finally defeat the Goa'uld. You won't fail. Just trust me on that part. When that day comes, we're going to celebrate by me turning in my resignation and then not allowing you to get up outta this bed for three days straight. OK? So we had a little slip-up in the waiting game thing. Not too surprising, we're human. Get some sleep and tomorrow we'll go into work like always. We've got to figure out a nice little trouble-free recon for Jonas' first mission. Hammond's gonna want us back out in the field just as soon as my knee's better."

I'm smiling by the end of his tirade. "Goodnight, Jack."

"Night, Carter."

"And Jack-"

"Yeah?"

"Next time, I'll return the favor."

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(an- I'm trying to figure out if I should do more with this or leave as a little vignette snapshot moment all by itself. Any votes yay or nay out there?)


End file.
